Quiet
by FragileEyes
Summary: "Why are you helping…me? You should be making fun of me by…by now." "It's no fun teasing you when you're drunk. That would just be cruel." Fic inspired by the song "Louder Than Thunder" by The Devil Wears Prada. Hoffman/Amanda! Rated T for safety.


Quiet

Disclaimer: I don't own the SAW series and if I did, then John wouldn't have been killed in the third movie and there would be more Hoffman/Amanda action. I also don't own the song, "Louder Than Thunder", that inspired me to write this. That belongs to the band The Devil Wears Prada! I DO own a pack of Oreos, a red pen, and my pair of broken glasses.

Few people would believe their eyes if they saw Mark Hoffman, one of the police department's finest detectives, sitting in his apartment, surrounded by empty beer cans. Sometimes he couldn't even believe it himself. In all honesty, it was pitiful. Someone like him having been reduced to drinking the nights away. Drinking to forget everything that had become of his life. Could he even call what he was going through to be a 'life'? In a 'life', weren't you supposed to actually make something of it? Do some good for the world and for yourself? Yet, here he was, drinking to numb himself and helping the Jigsaw Killer on his sick mission of trying to 'help' people. Sure, he was a cop too, but what was the point of being one when you just went behind the system's back to help a murderer? How could anyone call that a life?

It had all started after Angelina had been killed by that bastard excuse of a human. Seth Baxter. Even the thought of the name left a bad taste in his mouth. Mark picked up his half empty beer can from the floor next to him, bringing it up to his lips and taking a swig from it. It was the only way he could think of to chase away the bitter taste on his tongue whenever he thought of his sister's killer. After Angelina had been murdered, all Mark could feel was rage. Rage at Seth and at the people who had helped him be granted only five years in prison on a technicality. Once he had been dealt with by Mark's own doing, only a bitter taste remained in his mouth whenever he thought of him. Perhaps a still underlying rage? It wasn't guilt, he knew that much. That man didn't deserve to have guilt spent on him.

His grip tightened on the can in his hand as images of his sister flashed through his mind. Images of when they were younger, playing in the backyard with their parents. More memories came and went as he watched the both of them grow older in his mind's eye. Happy memories….until the horrifying image of his sister, having been brutally murdered, appeared at the fore front of his mind. At that point, something inside of him snapped as he hurled his arm back and chucked the beer can across the room, blankly watching it as it hit the wall and fell to the ground, the alcohol pouring out from the can and becoming a puddle on the gray carpet of the apartment living room.

He laid his head back to rest on the wall behind him, closing his eyes as he did. New images came to his mind now. Images of the different cases he had worked on over the years. He had spent quite a bit of time around death during his career, but it had never bothered him. Not as long as he had his sister. Ever since she had died though, it had started to become unbearable. He had murdered a person himself and was now assisting a serial killer but….the world was better off without Baxter and he had never dreamed he'd be helping John Kramer kill others. That wasn't what he had wanted. If anything, he just wished that people would stop dying.

Mark raised his hands up, placing his palms against his ears. Why couldn't it just all end? Why couldn't death just stop and everything become quiet? What did he have to do to make that happen? If he couldn't stop this all from happening….would it be better for him to just die? That way he could escape from everything that went on in the world and maybe, just maybe, he could finally see Angelina again. He was left with nothing after all. Completely empty handed. Was that the way life was supposed to work?

His thoughts drifted yet again, to another female he knew. Amanda Young, first survivor of one of John's games and a fellow apprentice. Unlike him, however, she helped John of her own free will. From what Mark had deduced, the elderly man had become a sort of father figure for the woman. She would do anything for him.

Mark knew what she did to herself, though. He saw the scars on her wrists and, in a way, had even challenged her because of them. It was a normal thing between them. Amanda would ask him when he was going to have his test, and he would respond that he didn't need one. She would ask why and he would say the same thing each time. _"Cause _I_ don't take my life for granted."_ A sad smirk came across his lips as he remembered saying that to her. He had basically accused her of not appreciating her life, when he barely appreciated his own. He was such a hypocrite. How could he possibly be any better than her? He had thought he could be…but that was just all a lie.

His eyes snapped open as the door to his apartment suddenly flew open. Mark's hands came down from his ears as he watched someone walk into the living room. What was going on? Damn it, where was his gun when he needed it? He knew it was useless to try to even think of his gun at this point. He could only hope that whoever this person was, they wouldn't hurt him. On the slim chance, maybe this was an angel coming to take him away from this world. With his luck, however, it wouldn't be an angel, but a demon, that was standing in his living room, ready to drag him down to hell. All thoughts of this were dashed as the figure opened its mouth and spoke.

"Damn it, Hoffman, you asshole. Would it hurt to turn a few lights on?" Light flooded Mark's vision a moment later as none other than Amanda Young flicked the light switch by the door on.

His hands flew up to quickly cover his eyes as the harsh light attacked his alcohol inebriated brain. What the hell was Amanda doing here? He growled in his throat and moved a few of his fingers so that he could peek out between them. "Turn the light back off, you….you bitch." His voice slurred slightly, alcohol always having caused his speech to falter where his thoughts were clearer than most. He sighed in relief as the light turned back off, allowing him to remove his hands from over his eyes. Through the darkness, he was able to make out Amanda standing near the now closed front door, her hands on her hips. He couldn't make out her facial expression, but he was sure she was about to make fun of him any moment now. Mark Hoffman, the guy who always got on her nerves, sitting in the middle of beer cans, drunk. He watched her move around to the side of his couch to an end table where a small lamp sat. Mark squeezed his eyes shut, preparing himself for the light that was about to assault him as she turned the lamp on.

He was surprised when he slowly opened his eyes and the light wasn't as harsh as he had expected. When he looked at the lamp, he saw that Amanda was adjusting a dark purple jacket over the lamp shade so that just enough light was visible through the thin material. He lazily blinked, continuing to watch her until she turned to look at him. He averted his eyes away from her as she began to walk over to him, not even looking her in the face when she knelt down beside him. Mark didn't bother to glance at her as she spoke either.

"Idiot," Amanda murmured softly, the malice that was normally in the word gone. Mark's eyes widened, and he almost jerked his head to the side to look at her but refrained from doing so when she spoke again. "How many beers did you have tonight?" Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her tilt her head. "Cause from the amount of cans I see, you should be dead."

Mark shook his head and turned it to look at her. "I've only had about…one or two," he murmured softly. He saw her eyebrows shoot up, her expression betraying just how much she believed him. "Okay, okay…it was actually….three or…or four." He could've kicked himself at that moment. If he slurred, she'd know something was wrong and then she'd never let this go. He saw her glance around the room at the other beer cans that were around and open her mouth, about to ask another question, he was sure. "Those other cans…they were from other nights I've drank….I just never got around to throwing them out." He watched the woman beside him, curious about her reaction. He raised an eyebrow as she just silently shook her head and began to stand up. "Where are you….going?"

Amanda glanced at him then looked around the living room again while speaking. "I'm not going anywhere. I am going to throw away these cans since you're too lazy to do it." She smirked at him as she finished her statement. Mark weakly smirked back at her but the expression faltered as she reached down to grab a hold of his arm. He looked into her brown eyes with a questioning look, but he couldn't decipher what she was thinking. She smiled down at him, the look in her eyes still not giving him any answers. "Before I do anything here, you need to get off the floor." She tugged at his arm for a moment then paused, watching his face. "Can you even stand up?" Mark slowly nodded before he began trying to stand up. He managed to get on his feet and once Amanda was sure he could walk without falling, she began to lead him over to the couch. Mark warily followed her, curious as to what she had up her sleeve.

Once she had seated him on the couch, he looked up at her, a question in his eyes as much as it was on his lips. "Why are you helping…me? You should be making fun of me by….by now."

Amanda blinked and licked her lips before smirking. "It's no fun teasing you when you're drunk. That would just be cruel." She raised an eyebrow and spoke again. "Unless you'd rather me tease you." Mark shook his head, and she nodded. "That's exactly what I thought. Now, lay down you big lug." She gently pushed on his shoulder, causing him to tilt slightly. He took the hint and lay down on the couch cushions, using the arm rest as a place to rest his head. The couch wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, having lumps that felt like bricks in it, but it would do for now.

He watched Amanda turn away from him and begin to move towards the beer cans that were on the floor. Before she took more than even three steps, he spoke to get her attention. "Why are you here anyway?" Mark had been curious about why Amanda had been outside of his apartment. It was 9 'o clock at night after all. What business did she have here?

Amanda looked over her shoulder at him, her brown eyes still hiding any underlying emotion she was feeling. "John sent me over," she murmured. "He wanted me to come tell you that he wanted you to get information on a few people, but it's pretty obvious that you're in no shape to do that tomorrow. Nope, tomorrow, you'll be stuck in bed with a hangover." Mark blinked and opened his mouth to ask her a few questions when she waved her hand. "You shouldn't be asking questions. You should be sleeping; it'd be best for your health after you've been drinking."

Mark frowned at Amanda and spoke out in protest. "I'm a detective; it's my job to ask questions. I just wanted to ask you why John didn't ask you to call me instead of coming all the way to my apartment to tell me that he needed me to get information on…..people. Question number two: how did you get in here, anyway?"

As he questioned her, his fellow apprentice had already set about grabbing a trash can from the kitchen and beginning to pick up the empty beer cans in the living room. She didn't pause in her work as she answered him. "Well, Detective, he did try to call but nobody answered. For your second question, your door was unlocked so it wasn't that hard to just walk right in." Mark stared at her, trying to remember if he had indeed locked the door to his apartment before he began drinking that night. When he couldn't place the memory, he had to believe that Amanda was speaking the truth and that she had been able to get in due to his own stupidity instead of picking the lock like he was sure she could easily do.

He silently watched her work for a few minutes, the younger woman having been able to make good time in cleaning the living room floor. His lips couldn't help but turn up into a smirk, though, when he heard a 'squelch' as Amanda stepped into the puddle of beer on the carpet. The smirk only grew when he saw how her nose wrinkled in disgust as she looked at what she had stepped in. "Geez, Hoffman, you really need to clean up around here more often." She looked up to see the smirk on his face and glared at him. "Wipe that smirk off your face, bastard." The words came out more teasing than insulting as she spoke, her eyes holding no anger in them as they did when she wanted to hurt someone with her words. "If you're not going to be useful, then go to sleep. You need it." She went back to work a moment later, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

Mark rolled his own eyes when he noticed her watching him. "Yes Mother dearest, whatever you say." Amanda glared at him again, causing him to chuckle. He paused for a moment as John came to his mind. Wouldn't he be wondering where Amanda was by now? "Won't John be wondering where you are? You should be getting back to him." Amanda paused in her work to ponder this before looking at him again.

"Hoffman, go to sleep. I'll call John once I'm finished picking these cans up to tell him that you're sick and that I'm trying to help you. Technically, you are sick, not with an illness but with a hangover. Either way, you're sick." She nodded, satisfied with what she'd stated.

Mark raised an eyebrow at her reasoning. "Won't he need you there to help tonight?"

Amanda shook her head. "He was in a good mood all day. Today was one of his better days and I'm sure he'll be fine without me for at least an hour or two. Normally, he'd be getting ready to sleep, after all, so he wouldn't miss me."

The detective turned this over in his brain for a moment before asking another question. "Why are you trying to help me?"

Amanda turned to look at him, a look in her eyes that he couldn't read. He saw it only for a moment before she turned her eyes back to the living room. "Go to sleep, Hoffman."

Any other questions or statements Mark had to make were met with silence as Amanda continued to work. She was obviously ignoring him in an attempt to make him sleep. Mark managed to stay awake for about twenty more minutes, watching as she finished picking the cans up and started on trying to get the beer out of his carpet. He wasn't able to fight sleep any longer as his eye lids finally closed, and he surrendered to his dreams.

The next morning, Mark woke up with a major headache. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to protect his eyes from the light that was coming in through a window and right onto his face. What had happened last night? He blinked his eyes open once more when his eyes had finally decided to adjust to the light flooding into the room. He sat up and stretched, his body sore from having spent the whole night on the lumpy couch. Mark glanced around the living room, surprised when he saw Amanda, sitting in a chair, fast asleep with one of her arms propped up on the arm rest, her head resting in the palm of her hand. She couldn't possibly be comfortable. Furthermore, what was she doing here?

As Mark stood up, memories from the night before came into his fuzzy mind. That's right. Amanda had walked in on him while he was drinking and had made him lay down. She had also been working on cleaning up the living room too. He glanced down at the carpet, realizing that that part hadn't been a dream either when he was greeted with the sight of a clean floor. She had done a good job but…why did she go through all of that trouble for him? Mark looked at the sleeping young woman again. What had he done to deserve her help? He didn't deserve for her to waste any selflessness on him.

He moved closer to the chair she was occupying, careful to not wake her. In a few moments, he was already kneeling down beside her. He could see the way her chest was rising and falling as she breathed. She looked peaceful in that moment. Her medium length hair was pulled back in a ponytail, probably to keep it out of her face as she cleaned last night. Mark smirked at the thought. He couldn't even clean his own apartment; Amanda had had to do it. He would have to thank her for that once she woke up. After she woke up, though, he knew she wouldn't be the same as she was last night. It would be back to the insults and death glares. Wouldn't it?

He reached a hand out, wanting to touch her, but pulled it back out of fear that she would wake up. Why was he nervous to wake her up? Was it because he didn't want this peaceful moment to end? That he wanted to remember how she had helped him last night? What was his reasoning? His hand reached out to touch her once more but yet again he pulled it back. He wanted to touch her. What was this? After last night, what had changed? _Maybe it was just the hangover talking._ He shook his first thought away. He knew that wasn't it. Maybe…..just maybe….something had changed. This woman was affecting him more than she ever had before. It was like his light of her had abruptly been turned around and flipped upside down. He didn't want to admit it but Amanda Young had begun pick locking her way into his heart and mind.

He, yet again, reached a hand out to her, gently touching a few strands of her hair. He ran his thumb over the soft strands but froze as he saw Amanda's eyes start to flutter open. Her large, brown eyes lazily began to open and met his. He didn't breathe for a moment, until something unexpected happened. Her lips turned up into a sleepy, dazed smile. Mark knew in that moment that he would be okay with staying on this earth. Things were finally quiet.

So, there it is. My first fanfic ever! Please rate and review if you want to, I'd really appreciate it. Constructive criticism is welcome, and I'm sorry if Mark and Amanda seemed OOC. If Mark was, I have the excuse that he was drunk. Amanda...I don't have any excuse for that. Either way, thanks for reading!


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